Chapter One
Thewumpof helicopter rotors mixed offbeat with the string quartet’s first notes of Wagner’s “Bridal Chorus.” The bridesmaids beamed. The groom stood front and center, filling out his tuxedo as only Mason Marlow could. Row after row of couture-covered guests stood like well-trained extras on the set of Hollywood’s biggest wedding in a century. Jules Lowry prayed that she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her well-orchestrated life and stepped from the white canvas tent and onto the white-rose-petal-covered aisle.
I can’t do this.
Except she had to.
She maintained her scrupulously perfect posture and chanted the wedding-day mantras that would carry her through the day.Marriage means safety. Marriage is security.
Marriage ensured the celebrity gossip machine would stop asking who she was dating, and maybe, if Lady Luck was on her side, the man who’d stalked her for years would take a hint.
Maybe those weren’t the reasons most people pledged their lives to another person, but she and Mason Marlow weren’t most people. They were friends—ish. More importantly, they were business partners with an occasional semidecent sex life and an ironclad business agreement that would protect both their interests. Sort of like friends with benefits but on a far more complicated scale.
Only one other person she could have asked to marry her, and he was nothing like Mason—nothing like the type who would ever agree.
Jules raised her gaze to the clear blue sky. Not a paparazzi helicopter in sight. Though the no-fly zone hadn’t been large enough. Sound waves rolled over the ceremony. One of the wedding planner’s assistants was definitely screaming at an air traffic controller somewhere behind the scenes.
“Jules.”
Jules’s ears perked, but she didn’t break stride even as she cataloged the whisper-hissed interruption that sounded like Sloane Ellis, publicist extraordinaire.
Impossible.
Sloane would sooner tie herself to a railroad track than do anything to distract Jules from the money shot. The dress designer had half jokingly demanded a signed blood oath requiring squared shoulders and a head straight ahead, lest the lines of her train and veil be marred. Sloane had cosigned, probably in blood.
Should her wedding have so much legal mumbo-jumbo and red tape?
Well, obviously, no.
Should she be thinking about the contracts as she glided toward Mason?
Eh, not really.
Her stomach churned. Where had her cold feet come from?
She searched for her parents. Their all-business attitude could ground her, but they were too far away.
Instead, she accidentally connected her gaze with an interviewer who’d ignored the merit of her most recent film and instead requested wedding-day dieting advice. Oh, the irony. Jules had not shed a single stupid pound for her wedding. She’d actually put on muscle while shooting an epic-fantasy-turned-cinematic-blockbuster, thank you very much.
Jules focused on the endgame—the end of the aisle—and ignored every instinct to turn around and run for her life. Person after person smiled. Insecurity after insecurity filtered through her mind as she sashayed by the too-long guest list.
Too long. Too much. This whole spectacle is too ostentatious.
And if she were being honest, her PR team was too excited, and her fiancé was too grouchy. Hell, her stalker was too erratic of late, with weird messages telling her to retire while at the pinnacle of her career.
The wedding hadn’t been about her in a long time. If her parents had known why she was actually marrying Mason, they would have burned Hollywood to the ground. Maybe they should have. Even for them, her secretly arranged marriage might be a step too far.
After crushing miles and miles of petals underfoot, she reached her mark in front of the arch draped in white peonies and hydrangeas. The faint scent of whiskey mixed with the floral notes. Mason reached for her, and she looked into his bloodshot eyes. That was unexpected.
Was he drunk? No. The man had never shown up late or unprepared on set a day in his life. She respected that about him. Though, this was real life.
Guilt flickered across Mason’s handsome face, and he took her hand in the same way he did with every apology after every argument. Lately, he’d been negative and nitpicky. She probablyhadn’t been a peach either. Wedding stress had messed with their mojo. Those problems would disappear just like the sound of helicopters always blended into the background.
What would it feel like to marry someone she was in love with?
She guessed she’d never know.
Jules focused on what was happening. The officiant was nailing her lines. The photographer repositioned behind the groomsmen. Postproduction edits would handle Mason’s eyes and pale cheeks.
